


Week After Week

by mechanicalanakal



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10321859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalanakal/pseuds/mechanicalanakal
Summary: Hewlett's suffering, he has a knife, Simcoe is there and nothing really ends well.





	1. Chapter 1

Hewlett was lost in his thoughts as he looked over at the blade. It was laid just a few feet away from him, partially covered in snow and leaves. He tried not to think about all the possibilities having such an item could open up for him. To no avail, he curled up tighter, trying to wrap himself further in the blanket he had been provided. It did little to keep him warm, but he would feel much worse without it, this he knew. So he sat there, shivering and shuddering with his eyes shut tightly. He wished he was back in the safety and comfort of his own bed. How he longed to be back home, to be nice and warm again- not stuck out in this frozen wasteland. His thought drifted to Anna for just a moment.

The thought of her soothed Hewlett. He remembered her touch, how she sounded, and even how she smelled. For a brief moment, he could feel her presence. His thoughts drifted to... what was it, the previous week? When he was showing Mrs. Strong, the telescope he'd ordered, having her look up at the constellations with him. He could hear the soft sound of her voice. Comforting words of her's echoed through his mind. The sensations near intoxicated him. But of course, it wasn't long before he was brought out of his trance with a cold breeze blowing through. At this point, he was at his limit. Having nothing else to do and not wanting to be bothered by these thoughts, Hewlett struggled for a moment to sit up a bit before reaching over to the knife.

Once in his hands, he quickly retreated back into the ball he was in previously, trying desperately to get that warmth back. And for a little while, that worked. But as the cold blade of the knife pressed up against his skin, a disturbing thought crossed his mind. At first, Hewlett was horrified that he would even consider it, even for a second. Another strong gust of wind, again, broke him out of his thoughts and back into reality. Hewlett knew he couldn't let such thoughts cloud him, and yet as he pondered on it more and more, the less of a bad idea it seemed.

The major was already sore and in pain just from being out there in the cold, alone, and afraid. He didn't need to do anything with the knife. But of course, as terrifying as the thought was, the more drawn to it he felt. Even as he continued to think about how much it would hurt, he already began to absentmindedly drag the blade across himself. It didn't hurt. Soft scrapes did nothing to bring Hewlett out of his thoughts. It took more than a little time for him to realize that he'd already been cutting himself. There was now a small gash on the side of his neck.

Had he really done that to himself? He didn't even think about doing it. How could he have let himself do this? He lightly tapped the wound, shaking more so than usual as he did. Retrieving his hand, he was horrified by the sight of blood. Hewlett stifled a cry. How could he had been so careless? Hewlett sat there for a while, shaking and sobbing. All he wanted was to go home, to be free again. He knew that he didn't deserve to be out here. He knew that he didn't do anything wrong. Or did he? Already, the man began to question himself. How could he have? He had no recollection of the event. Or did he? He didn't know. He didn't want to know.

Maybe it was all for the best that he was trapped in here. If he did commit the crime, he didn't want to hurt anyone else. Despite his past, he couldn't. Opposing side or not. Murder was not the way to win a war, on top of that, he could never do such a thing. Besides, what if he were to hurt his friends? What if he hurt Anna? Hewlett wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to her. Perhaps being trapped in this cage would probably be the best for him, the best for everyone.

All for the best, this he knew.

The next few days were uneventful. Just as cold and just as unbearable. Hewlett still sat, feeling the same awfulness he did the previous night. He drifted in and out of consciousness as he didn't sleep at all that night. Even so, it was a welcome feeling, really. Any break from the cold he could get, he adored. He shifted slightly and upon feeling the blade against the wound from the night, he let out a small gasp. Had he really not moved at all since that? No, he was sure he did. The feeling of the knife slowly diving back into the cut was... strangely comforting. It kept him grounded. It woke him from his dizzying trance. With that, Hewlett decided to cautiously bring the knife further into himself, ever so slightly. He gritted his teeth. It hurt so much, and yet it felt so... right. He could feel the blood dripping down his neck, down his chest. He let out a huff before moving the knife from his neck to a little below his collarbone. Carefully, he sliced into his flesh. Wave after wave of pain washed over him... and yet, that did nothing to stop him.

The man brought himself out of his thoughts for a moment, deciding that now would be the best time to see what he's managed to do to himself. There was a gash on his neck, that much he remembered. A deeper one on his chest. There were other smaller scrapes and cuts covering him everywhere from his arms to his legs. These wounds brought a sense of warmth over him as blood gushed from a few of them. He let out a content sigh, finally feeling comfortable enough to rest. Or well, he would've been if he hadn't realized that he was now bleeding, in pain, and had nothing to care for the cuts with. How could he let himself get so carried away? Why would he even do this to begin with knowing the outcome? None of it made sense to him, and now he was even more frustrated with himself than he was before. Either way, Hewlett let himself slip into a deep sleep, not wanting to bother with anything until he got at least a half-decent sleep.

For how long he was asleep, he couldn't tell. But it seemed to be around early evening by time he woke up again. He had a dream, but could barely remember what it was about. All he knew is that he was warm, he was happy, and that it was all taken away from him again in an instant. He was taken away from the safety of his thoughts again. Hesitantly, he tapped the wound on his chest, hoping that it stopped bleeding by this point. Gladly, it seemed to have done so significantly. But now, he was covered in dried blood and was in great need of medical care. His wounds would need to be cleaned, he would need to get them bandaged. But he couldn't do that while he was still stuck inside of this awful place. Now in theory, he could've torn pieces of the blanket to wrap around at least some of the areas with cuts, but that wouldn't do much good seeing that it was his only source of warmth, even if there was so little of it.

Hewlett figured that tonight would be another night of questioning his previous actions, wondering if he really did commit the crime, and the like. With that in mind, he might as well start early. Besides, he'd already spent who knows how many days doing so previously, so this wasn't exactly new to him. The wind seemed to had died down a bit, which he was very glad about. He got in to a more comfortable sitting position and went straight back to thinking. As he did, he looked up to the sky. It took him a moment to realize that the tarp that was put across the top a few days ago was taken down. Hewlett was taken aback for a moment, wondering why it'd be gone now, but decided not to trouble himself with the thought. He smiled, happily looking up at the stars, looking at the constellations, remembering what and where they were in the sky. He listed off the ones he could see out loud, his voice hoarse from not talking for so long. He shifted in an attempt to get a better look at a particular constellation, but while doing so, he managed to disturb several of his wounds. Mostly the gash on his neck, but also a few of the lighter scrapes on his person. He groaned a bit, now back to being uncomfortable. For the rest of the night, he struggled to get comfortable.

One wrong turn of the neck caused the wound to open again.

After a while, Hewlett fell back asleep. He knew that worrying about his condition would do him no good. It didn't matter that he was stuck here, that he was wounded. At the moment, there was nothing he could do about it. After accidentally reopening the gash on his neck, the major was finally at his wit's end. Frustrated and alone, Hewlett let his mind wander. Curiously, he peered over to the knife that laid by his side. He studied it for a moment, satisfied with the blood that had dried on the blade. How he wished he had a mirror. He wanted to see just how gruesome his wounds were. Touching them would be the next best thing, he figured. Carefully, he ran a finger across the cut on his neck. The rough texture and the dull pain did little for him. He did the same with the one on his chest and got a similar result. Hewlett dug his nails into his flesh, chuckling to himself as he did. He wanted to do it again. He wanted to bleed more.

Anyway, despite how cold it was, he didn't seem to care as he let the blanket drift down his shoulders. The cloth now lay across his lower half as he sat cross-legged. He was far too excited, he even began to giggle- or well, as best as he could. Hewlett picked up the knife, and again studied it. The blood covering it looked so much nicer up close. No longer appeased by his nails, and decided that he would work on his arm next. He was delighted by the feeling of the blade digging its way into him. As more blood poured, the better he felt. The more blood poured, the warmer he felt. Now his arm was covered in cuts varying in depth. Deciding to not stop there, he sliced into his thigh next. Then his leg... and the other one.

His breaths were deep and labored as the blade dug more and more into him. He'd occasionally let out a soft yelp, stifling a sob. He couldn't tell if he was enjoying this anymore or not, then again, he could no longer tell apart the pain from the pleasure. No matter how good it felt, there was always the agony to keep him in line- to keep him from going too far. But he didn't care, he was so happy to get this over with. This way, he was able to get his frustrations out. Granted, it wasn't the healthiest way to do so, but it's not like he could stop now. He's come so far already.

Hewlett was far too caught up into his fantasy to realize just how dire the situation had become. His wounds were far worse now and there is no way he would be able to fix this. Was he really so thoughtless as to do this to himself? The first time was bad enough. This time he knew he would have to sacrifice parts of his only source of warmth in order to at least try to stop the bleeding. Cautiously, he tore three long strips from the cloth. He wrapped what he could around the wounds on his legs, then the ones on his arm. Hewlett shivered and tried to cover himself with the blanket again. He sat there for a while, thinking through a million scenarios in his mind. What would his friends think of him? What would Anna say? The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. How could he do this to himself? How could he do this to her?

It wasn't long before he passed out. From blood loss or fatigue, we just don't know. For a while, Hewlett dreamed of Anna. But all throughout the rest, the dull pain from before kept him on the edge of consciousness. With that, he could vaguely see his surroundings, barely hear them. The combination of them resulted in Hewlett seeing the vivid shape of the woman. At first he couldn't tell what she was doing. That was until she spoke up. Her voice was muffled and nearly inaudible, but was comforting nonetheless. She whispered sweet, calming words to the suffering man that was shuddering beneath her. He let his eyes wander up to her face. Though it was hard to see from this angle, he managed to capture a glimpse of a soft smile. Hewlett sighed, feeling more at peace than he had in weeks.

Eventually, as the pain faded away, he was able to completely relax, sleep peacefully.

That was until the very next morning. He'd woken up to commotion from the nearby camp. He heard the familiar galloping of horses, gunfire, and- was that the door to the cage opening? Simcoe and the Queen's Rangers took the camp by storm, killing all those who inhabited it. Hewlett attempted to sit up, but found that it was very difficult to. He looked up to see none other than the former captain himself. Hewlett was surprised to see him, terrified even. He had no way to protect himself from whatever the other had in store for him.

"Happy New Year, Major."

Hewlett gulped, managing to get himself to sit up just as Simcoe stepped down to his level, pushing him back down. He let out a whimper and silently cursed himself for doing so. Really, Hewlett wasn't too surprised that Simcoe was here and seemingly about to kill him. It wasn't that big of a shock. Simcoe had already framed him for murder, he might as well commit the act again. Though as matter-of-factly as Hewlett was taking it on the inside, on the outside he was downright horrified. Of course Simcoe's here, that's just his luck. On the other hand, now that the worst case scenario had happened, Hewlett hoped that perhaps something good would occur. That's how it works, right? ... Right?

"Oh, dear, what've they done to you?" Simcoe's grin widened as he stared down at the other's wounds, using a free hand to disturb the one on his chest, then to tug at the loose bit of cloth that clung to his arm. Simcoe toyed with the major like this for a while, treasuring every second of it. Hewlett let out cry after cry, muttering his pleas for him to stop. But of course, the pitiful noise did nothing to stop Simcoe. Without hesitation, the former captain dug his way into one of the wounds on Hewlett's arm, laughing to himself as the major stifled a scream. It was then that he noticed what Hewlett had been reaching for.

"... You did this to yourself, did you? My, that's even better!" Simcoe chuckled, reaching for and grabbing the knife himself. He knew he'd have to get back to the rest of the Rangers, but... when was he going to get another chance to torture Hewlett? Not any time soon, that's for sure.


	2. Chapter 2

It began to snow again, but much lighter than before. The sky was a light gray that bordered on pure white, and the commotion outside had all but quieted. The Rangers seemed to have nothing better to do than strike up conversations with each other. Wind blew through, causing the Major to shiver while the Captain seemed completely unfazed. Hewlett laid on his back, having been pushed down by Simcoe. He looked on in terror, wondering what the Captain would do to him. Would he be killed? Tortured, maybe? What sort of sick revenge could Simcoe have planned? Or perhaps, he not have anything planned at all and was just about to wing it? Hewlett didn't know, nor did he really want to know. The situation confused him, though. Yes, Simcoe had the knife in hand, but why wasn't he doing anything with it? All he was doing was looking at the blade, running a gloved finger across it every once in a while. He had a sincere yet dark smile across his face. Hewlett shifted uncomfortably in regards to the silent man across from him. They sat there for another few moments until Simcoe spoke up.

"You really did all of this to yourself, Major?" Simcoe asked, not truly expecting an answer. "I can't help but wonder what pushed you over the edge; what made hurting yourself in such a manner seem like a good idea." Hewlett turned away from the other out of shame. He knew that these wounds would cause him trouble, but he didn't expect to get such from Simcoe. He sooner expected infection rather than... whatever the Captain was going to do. He remained quiet.

"... Don't want to say anything?" The Captain shifted his gaze from the knife over to the shivering Major. Simcoe raised the knife as if he were about to stab him, barely reacting as the Major panicked and put his arms up in defense, knowing fully well that it wouldn't do any good. Yet, with his sudden recoil, the other got a decent view of the deep gashes that covered his left arm.  
"I can't say that I blame you, really..." the Captain said before bringing the knife back down to his side. "You must have felt so alone, hm?" Hewlett hesitantly let his arms down upon realizing that he wasn't going to be stabbed... at least not yet, he hoped.

Simcoe moved back a little bit, motioning for the other to sit back up. Hewlett did so with great difficulty having been pushed up against the wall for so long. His shivering was more prominent now, both from the freezing temperature and from the fear Simcoe had instilled in him.

"Why are you... saying all of this?" He questioned, a little confused as to why Simcoe would be so interested in what he spent his time doing while imprisoned.

Rather than responding immediately, Simcoe smiled before placing a hand on Hewlett's shoulder, roughly shoving him back against the wall and holding him there. He gazed into his eyes for a moment as the other began to get noticeably afraid.

"Looking over the scars you're covered in, I would assume you intended to hurt yourself, yes?" Simcoe started, savoring the look of fear on the Major's face. "So, surely you wouldn't mind if I were to, say, finish what you started?" He hesitated for a moment, seeing if the Major would say anything against the idea. When he didn't, seemingly too afraid to say anything, Simcoe had drawn the knife across an already healing wound, causing the other to let out a small whimper. Hewlett gave no verbal response as he had no idea how he could even begin to. He was in a state of shock as Simcoe began to toy with the wound on his neck, running the blade of the knife along it gently.

Hewlett shifted under the other's hold, not even bothering to try and get free. Simcoe switched between wounds every once in awhile, and Hewlett accepted the fact that the Captain would do what he wanted - no matter how much he protested. He gritted his teeth as Simcoe sliced deeper into the cut on his chest and let off a huff when he stopped for a moment. He struggled to keep himself from crying. It was bad enough he was letting this happen to begin with, let alone cry about it. Even so, he couldn't help but let a few stray tears go. He held back the urge to beg for the other to stop, knowing fully well that it wouldn't do any good, and that he would be laughed at for even trying. Hewlett tried to control his breathing, silently hoping that this would all be over soon. Hey, maybe Simcoe would get bored of him not giving him any reaction. That's what he was looking for, right? A reaction? Maybe if he could calm down enough, he would give up. Maybe-

Another cold breeze blew by, shaking Hewlett from the point of passing out. It was then that he realized the absence of Simcoe, and just how quiet it had become. But that couldn't be right, could it? He was right there just a moment ago, Hewlett was sure of it. He looked up, the sky had dimmed a bit, it was possibly around early evening now. What happened? It was another minute of him struggling to sit up when he heard distant laughter and conversation. Could it be Simcoe and his Queen's Rangers? Taking his luck into account, he figured as much. He jumped when he heard approaching footsteps, the crunching of snow and twigs under the other's boots.  
The door made a hideous creaking noise as it opened.  
A figure walked through the opening before closing the door behind and- Oh, of course it was Simcoe. Really, what was Hewlett expecting?

The Captain walked forward before stopping and kneeling in front of him. "Oh good, you're awake! You had me worried there for a moment, Major." Simcoe chuckled, reaching a hand to push a strand of hair of out the Major's face, but Hewlett turned away, wrapping himself further into his blanket. He eyed the Captain suspiciously. He was still quite confused and concerned as to what happened, so he thought it couldn't hurt to ask.

He sat up hesitantly, hoping that Simcoe wouldn't get any bright ideas and knock him back down again. "Wh-... What happened...?" Hewlett's voice was hoarse. Simcoe barely react as he sat down, cross-legged in front of the Major. His expression stayed static and emotionless. "To put it simply, Major, you fainted," the Captain stated, his monotone grated against the other's ears. "It seemed quite obvious that you couldn't take any more torture, so with that, I let you rest." That last sentence was followed by a soft, short laugh.

Hewlett was quiet for a moment trying to comprehend what had occurred, trying to see if he could remember anything at all: He flat out couldn't. No matter how much he thought, his mind drew a blank. The last thing he could remember was the hopelessness he felt as the Captain kept carving into his flesh. He absentmindedly ran a hand across the wound on his chest. "Why are you d-doing this to me? What good are you doing by keeping me here and-" Hewlett was at a loss for words. He was so lost, confused. All he wanted was to go home, he wanted to be happy and comfortable again. But as he stared up at Simcoe's form - at the grin that grew wider by every passing second - he knew he wasn't about to get any of his wishes granted.

After withstanding what felt like a lifetime's worth of cutting, stabbing, and bandaging, Hewlett wanted nothing more than to pass out once more. Simcoe was ruthless, wasting no time in slicing into the Major, watching him writhe in agony for a moment or two before bandaging the wound and moving onto the next. This pattern went on for longer than the Major could recall. He silently prayed that he would eventually faint from the pain, to finally get a break. In the past, he could slip out of consciousness with little to no problem - a little too easily, he thought. He vaguely remembered Simcoe struggling to carry him out and away from the cage. He could remember what the Captain said.

Through labored breaths, "You... dear Major, are coming with me." Simcoe managed to say.

By time Hewlett regained the ability to focus, he could hear the sound of the flaps of a tent being opened - someone stepping inside. Hewlett looked up drearily. His head was throbbing and the wounds covering his body felt like they were on fire. He could barely make out the silhouette of what looked to be one of the Queen's Rangers. No sound came from them as they quickly checked up on the Major before leaving the same way they came. Once it was quiet again, he felt himself slip back into his daze - falling back asleep with ease.


	3. Chapter 3

Hewlett woke up in panic, breathing heavily. He frantically looked around in an attempt to process his surroundings. It wasn't long before he realized that he was home. He was safe. His breathing slowed upon that realization. Light shown in through the window blinds, illuminating the small room. In a nearby chair, he saw- was that- it couldn't be... Anna Strong? What was she doing here? She sat in a chair that resided a few feet away from the bed, seemingly fast asleep. Her arms were crossed over her lap, her fingers intertwined with each other. Along her shoulders rested a thin, yet warm looking blanket. How long had she been sitting there? Wait- what was going on, exactly? How did he manage to get home- Anna's eyes opened suddenly, which frightened Hewlett for a moment. With how sudden it was, he wondered if she sleeping at all to begin with. She smiled warmly upon seeing that Hewlett was awake, but didn't make a noise. He struggled for a moment to find his voice- this entire situation was so... unnerving.

"A-Anna?" His voice was once again hoarse, forcing him to let out a cough or two. He wanted to say more, but found that he'd lost his voice again, finding it stuck- paralyzed in his throat.

With a soft laugh escaping her, Anna got up from her chair, slid the blanket off of her shoulders, and walked over to the bed. She sat beside the broken, bandaged Major, the one she never thought she'd come to love. Despite the eeriness of the entire situation he found himself in, Hewlett decided to try and remain calm, to try and enjoy seeing her again. After all, he'd been away from civilization, as well as people who didn't want him dead, for so long... he greatly missed the company of others. On top of that, the last time he had seen this dear woman it was merely a hallucination, a short-lived dream. He was elated to see her, now more than ever. Without much more struggle, Hewlett managed to sit up in bed- which is when he felt the soreness from his wounds begin to bug him again, though the pain was somewhat dull.

Hewlett was about to speak up again, wanting to go on about how much he missed her, but he was cut off by a rather unexpected hug. He heard another small, happy sigh from the other. Naturally, he hugged back. Of course, his wounds were still a problem, but with the dear Mrs. Strong by his side, he didn't have a care in the world. This is all he ever wanted for the past God knows how many weeks; to be by her side again. But still, something felt amiss. This felt so real, and yet, it felt so... wrong. Something was off about it, and Hewlett didn't very well like it. He let go, pulling himself away from the warm, comforting embrace of the woman of his dreams. No matter how much he wanted to stay in that position, Hewlett knew that he shouldn't.

The other drew her arms back, seemingly embarrassed for a moment, before her expression changed to that of concern. "What's wrong?" Anna asked, her voice more of a whisper.

Hewlett turned his gaze away from the woman, ignoring her and furthering examining his surroundings. Nothing looked as it should've. In theory, it should- at a glance, the room looked completely normal. More than a little unkempt, sure, but that wasn't the issue. It was either that he was still dazed, or perhaps... no, this had to be real. Surely this couldn't be another hallucination. Then again... knowing his luck... Looking back at Anna, he realized that she didn't look right either. He couldn't focus on her appearance no matter how hard he tried to. Despite that, the sounds he heard were crystal clear, with no imperfections or distortions.

Her voice was still soft as she spoke. "Edmund?" Anna lifted a hand, caressing the Major's cheek; she forced a small smile on her face in an attempt to comfort him. "What's the matter?" He was at a loss for words at this point, being far too overwhelmed and disoriented to react. He only looked at the other with confusion obvious in his eyes. Anna pouted a little at this. "You aren't happy to see me?" Hewlett shook his head, stuttering and stumbling over his words. "I-I am, re-really, but I..." he paused. "This doesn't f-feel right..."

Anna smiled for a moment, amused by the Major's confusion. "There's no need for alarm," she muttered. Her unnaturally calm tone made Hewlett panic further. Either this was, as he assumed, a horrible nightmare, or something was terribly wrong with Mrs. Strong. He didn't know which he found worse. Anna leaned a little closer to him, going in for a kiss. However, before their lips connected, Hewlett blacked out again, everything around him falling head first into a dark abyss.

-

And again, Hewlett awoke with a throbbing headache and in a daze. Oh, right, of course. Just as he's about to get a loving kiss from the girl of his dreams, he's awake again and back-... wherever the Hell he was. Sure, the entire situation back there was more than a little unsettling, but... nonetheless. Anyway, where was he, again? What happened? The last thing he remembered was Simcoe picking him up- somehow- and taking him somewhere, that last part made clear by the galloping of horses, which made sense of the light bruises covering his person. Other than that, he vaguely remembered the flaps of a tent, someone walking in, and-... no, it still made no sense. Hewlett attempted to sit up, but found that he couldn't; his lightheadedness keeping him grounded. He let out an audible groan of frustration. Why could he never get any peace? What did he do to deserve such treatment? Actually... don't... answer that.

"Good morning to you, too, Major."

Oh for the love of God, you can't be serious. Simcoe now stood over him, sporting his usual expression of indifference. Not seeing any other option (save for going back to sleep and returning to that... unusual dreamscape) than to sit up and look around, he did so despite how out of it he felt. Upon sitting, the Captain took a step back, allowing Hewlett to have a decent view to look around the small, cramped place he found himself in. Just as he thought, he sat in a small tent. An amber-colored glow seemed to surround it- Lord knows what time of day it was or how much time had passed since the last time he was awake. He was lying on a sort of cot. Beside him, there was a small table that seemed to have medical supplies laying across it (though most of its contents seemed to consist of various types of knives)- such a sight made Hewlett begin to panic slightly. Another table rested on the other side, which seemed to just have various clothes on it. As for the rest of the tent's interior, there wasn't much more of importance. Spare blankets and other sorts of supplies. Perhaps there was something to defend himself with laying around? Hewlett thought he would see if he could have a look around later... if he was still alive, that is.

He turned his gaze back at his attacker. Hewlett was, again, at a loss for words as he stared up at him How long was Simcoe going to keep this up for? He knew the other wanted to kill him, of course- but then why didn't he? If he was so hellbent on making him suffer, why didn't he just leave him in that rebel camp? If he really wanted him to suffer, then why not kill the camp's inhabitants, leave the prisoner trapped, and live with the thought that he'll slowly freeze and/or starve to death. Whichever came first, really. But no. Simcoe was determined to bring the Major along. For what ungodly reason, Hewlett was very curious to know, and wanted to ask, but couldn't find it in himself to.

"Did you sleep well?" Simcoe asked, kneeling down beside the Major, a smile drawn across his face.

He slowly shook his head, resisting the urge to let out a whimper as doing that made the wound in his neck begin to ache again, he silently cursed himself for being so careless. Hewlett lifted a hand to the area in question and was shocked to find a makeshift bandage- he then noticed bandages on his other wounds, along with thin clothes tied loosely around him, keeping everything in place. The Major silently wondered how long he was out for. Surely this couldn't have been very quickly. Where was he? What was going on? Why does he keep having such repetitious thoughts? He could just ask these questions verbally, and yet he didn't. He began to shiver again, pulling his blanket closer and around his shoulders. He put his head down, not wanting to face Simcoe any longer. He could no longer resist the urge, whimpering into the blanket.

Simcoe ran a gloved hand through Hewlett's hair. "Chin up, Major," he cooed, obviously mocking him. Hewlett turned his head away, avoiding the Captain's gaze. "There's no point in being so childish."

Hewlett stared down, away in disbelief. He still had trouble believing any of this was even happening. He prayed that somehow he was still in the rebel camp, stuck in a horrible nightmare that he couldn't seem to wake up from. At least back there, he could've looked up at the stars and admire their beauty; at least... before that tarp was thrown across the top. Such a thought reminded him of earlier- his dream of waking up next to Anna Strong. He'd done that twice now... which he found to be more than a little embarrassing. He truly loved her that much? Sure, she was a wonderful person, and she seemed to be able to take care of herself just fine. Amazingly so, even. But could such a person ever love him back? - Anyway, the nightmare theory seemed to be the only thing that made at least somewhat sense. None of this had to be real, right? It couldn't be. Simcoe may be incredibly and overly sadistic, quite murderous, and cruel, but Hewlett doubted he would ever go to such extremes. ... Maybe. There were sharp pains dancing across his body, forcing him to let out another soft cry, much to the enjoyment of the Captain.

He barely had a chance to react as he was shoved back down onto the cot, letting out a sharp gasp as he hit the oh-so-uncomfortable material. He groaned, absolutely exhausted from being thrown around so much in such a manner. He was about to get up, but that was before Simcoe dropped to his knees and began crawling over and holding the Major down at an arm's length. Hewlett's panic intensified as he reached onto the table beside them, grasping a knife and holding the blade to his throat. In the brief moment he seen it, it looked nearly identical to the one Hewlett was originally tortured with.

"Now Major," Simcoe sighed, a grin plastering itself across his face as he took in the other's panic. "As amusing as it would be to continue to slice you into ribbons," Simcoe let out a low chuckle, getting ever closer to him, causing Hewlett's breath to hitch in his throat. "... truth be told, I highly doubt you would be able to handle it." The Captain's tone eventually becoming a harsh whisper. He was right about something. Hewlett knew he couldn't take much more of this, given his current physical condition. Covered in makeshift bandages, he found it difficult to move. On top of that, being this close to Simcoe was starting to become more and more uncomfortable by the second. "But, as you could imagine, the idea is so... very tempting," he muttered. He silently prayed that Simcoe would further fight his desires. Hewlett couldn't help but panic further as he felt the tip of the blade scrape against his neck. In his panic, he let out a small whimper.

Simcoe backed away and stood. He placed the knife back on the table as Hewlett hesitantly sat up, putting a hand to his neck and occasionally taking it away to observe it- making sure he wasn't injured further. He barely noticed as the other gathered up the set of knives in a cloth, taking it in hand. Simcoe had nearly walked out of the tent again before he turned back to look at the panicked Major, a bored expression crossing his features. "Major," he spoke, "do try to rest. You're going to need as much energy as you can acquire for later this evening." The Captain didn't bother to wait for a reaction, instead simply walking out of the tent, leaving Hewlett alone again with his thoughts.

"Later this evening?"


End file.
